


The Outsiders

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8695255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Season Three.  It's down to the wire.  Just months left before Dean is dragged into to hell.  When everything is taken from them, they only have one thing left.  Each other.





	1. Sodapop

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

_Morning, princess,_ Dean murmurs into my ear, while pulling me closer into his body.

 

Usually we’re pretty tangled in the sheets. But this morning we’re not. It means that Dean got up before me and smoothed things out. Score for me though because he came back to bed instead of getting dressed. And I can tell that he isn’t dressed.

 

He draws lazy circles on my stomach with his index finger. Slowly his circles grow and his fingers move lower.

 

_Well that didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it would,_ Dean chuckles turning me on my back. He’s got scruff coming in on his chin. I love the way it feels on my skin. I pull his head down and nuzzle into it. He rolls his eyes pulling away. _So Sammy…_ he drawls, looking deeply into my eyes.

 

We hold the gaze for a moment. I see his darkness and he sees mine. I see his fear and he sees mine. We are one-forever intertwined. The moment is too long and I start to wander. He doesn’t have too much longer. A few months and then he’ll be gone. I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.

 

_Sam, stop,_ Dean warns knowingly. He leans in and I can taste the Listerine. I can feel the scruff and I…Three and a half months. And then I’ll be alone. _I can’t go back to not having you._ I didn’t think I had said it aloud, but I must have because I can see the shift in Dean’s eyes. He’ll do anything for me and that’s the problem. _Come on; get out of your head._ He nudges me with his lips. I’m too far into my brain at this point. I’ll never survive. Maybe I could handle the loneliness, but the emptiness, the heartache…

 

_Come on little brother,_ Dean purrs, trying really hard to bring me back. He’s pulling out all the words that on any other day would practically make me come in my pants.

 

Sensory deprivation. That’s how I describe it. His touch. His scent. His eyes. His words whispered in my ear. The taste of him in my mouth. It’s carnal and primal and when he’s gone I’ll be in total sensory deprivation. The feeling gets worse and Dean knows he’s losing me. My heart beats wildly. He puts a hand over my heart and tells it to shut the fuck up. I smile faintly.

 

_Come on, look at me,_ he encourages softly. He tries to catch my gaze. I want too. I want to come back, but all the thoughts. They’re consuming me from the inside. I’m drowning in them. Everything hurts.

 

I can feel how hard Dean is. He purposefully presses himself against me to let me know that. I can’t.

 

_Yes you can…_ He pauses and I can tell he’s desperately trying to think of something to bring me back. _Come on Sammy. I need to feel close to you._

 

I push the tears out of my eyes. I try to turn away but he won’t let me. Dean is definitely the man in the relationship. I feel so fucking hormonal, and I don’t want Dean to see me like this. I close my eyes in exasperation.

 

It’s warm; his breath on my eyelids as he kisses my tears away. His lips make their way to my ear. One last attempt. He breathes into my ear and I feel it course through my veins.

 

_Come on…Ponyboy,_ he whispers huskily into my ear. I can’t help it. A smile forms and I’m grinning from ear to ear. He manages to pull me out of my head.

 

_I bet you’re pretty fucking pleased with yourself,_ I growl pinning him down on the bed.

 

_Bet your ass I am. Ain’t nobody who knows you better than I do, bitch._

 

_Jerk._

 

His breath is fiery on my skin. I manage to shut my brain up for a minute and give into the sensations of Dean fisting me back into rock hardness.

 

His eyes say _my bitch likes it on top._

 

My eyes say _yup._

 

We grin at each other. The connection that only we have. But that’s it. I can’t go further than this with my thoughts.

 

I can feel him. One look and I know he’s dying to be inside me. His hands have gotten wild, running carelessly through my hair. I relax on top of him, letting him know that I’m ready. He smirks as he guides himself into me. Both of our breaths hitch as we connect. It’s soulful and gritty. He has one hand planted firmly on my hip and the other wrapped around my cock.

 

I realize all the power is on his side this morning. He didn’t even blow me this morning. I frown looking into his glittering eyes. He knows.

 

_My bitch sad cause he didn’t get a bj?_

 

_Fuck you,_ I mutter without much breath.

 

_Yeah, kind of doing that, so why don’t you shut the fuck up._

 

I raise an eyebrow and stop meeting his thrusts. I want the power back. But at the same time I don’t want him to pull out. I feel so complete and full. His hand on my hip presses harder. He’s begging with his body. It’s too hard to resist. He can have the power this morning. I relax again letting him know that he’s won. He breathes deeply and thrusts again. Hard. His fingers are clawing at my back and I know there will be bruises. I catch his eye. We are completely in sync.

 

_Bet your ass there’ll be bruises. Gotta mark you. Make you mine._ He says the latter with his eyes, but I understand and nod in agreement.

 

He pushes inside me at a perfect tempo of both hard and fast. I find myself trying to tell him more, but the words never come. He gives me more. He always finds more to give me. What’s going to happen when he’s not here to give me more? Who’s going to…how am I supposed too?

 

Dean quickly uses his free hand to put my hand on his chest. On his heart. _Just feel my heart. Stay with me._

 

It works for a moment. I feel the wild beating of his heart and it calms me down. I press into his chest hoping to feel more. I try to focus on the present. Try to focus on the feelings and how amazing he feels inside me. How connected and in sync we are. His thrusts alter from gentle and slow to fast and dirty.

 

He’s afraid of losing me. He’s afraid of dying. I know it. _You’re my weakness._

 

Dean grunts deeply and puts his hand over my hand that’s over his heart.

 

_Stay with me Sammy, come on baby,_ He growls darkly.

 

And fuck if his saying baby doesn’t snap me out of it. He never says it. He knows I love it too much. He wants me so badly; he’s just handing over the power.

 

I wrap his fingers back around on my cock and start to fist myself with his hand.

 

_Yeah, there we go. Like it when I say baby, don’t you._ I nod fiercely, feeling myself going over the edge.

 

_So good baby. So fucking tight. Feels…_

 

_Harder, Dean._

 

He does, and it pushes me off the cliff.

 

_I’m taking you with me, jerk._

 

I kiss him deeply forcing my tongue deep into his mouth. He loves it, and I know that because he explodes inside me.

 

Our sweat and come mix together creating a sticky mess. I collapse onto him, my ear on his heart.

 

_Best sound in the world._

 

He agrees completely.

 

His fingers find a random scar on my lower back. He caresses it tenderly, probably remembering the hunt we were on when I got it.

 

I know he’s terrified. I know he’s just as lost as I am. I know him better than anyone in the entire world. I’m more connected to him than anyone else.

 

My heart swells as his teeth sink into my shoulder. I gasp sharply, but it feels good.

 

His teeth say, _my Sammy. No one else’s. Only mine._ It’s raw and primal. There’s a little blood, but nothing at all in comparison.

 

_I love you Sodapop,_ I whisper softly.

 

He responds by kissing me passionately. His tongue is halfway down my throat and although it feels amazing, I can feel the afterglow mingle with sleepiness. I’m fucking useless after sex and I’ll be damned if Dean doesn’t know it. I kiss him for as long as I can before giving in.

 

At this point I usually hear a frustrated sigh. Hell it frustrates me too. I love the heavy petting. It’s practically my favorite part, but Dean never seems to want to do it until after sex. Fucking carnivore.

 

No sigh. He doesn’t care this morning. But I love his frustrated sigh. I expect it. I start to think of ways to get it out of him. I open one eye and look at him. He’s smirking. The bastard. He knows I want it. He thinks he’s got the power back. Over confident prick.

 

Sleepiness is consuming all of me. I don’t have much longer before I succumb completely. I need to get the power back. And then I smile. I yawn and curl into him like a cat.

 

_‘S okay Dean, you can blow me later…_

 

 

~


	2. Ponyboy

I’d say I’m sorry, but Sam wouldn’t care. He doesn’t believe that it’s my fault he got bit. But it is. I should have paid more attention. I should have seen that thing coming from the left instead of looking to the right. 

 

He feels it in the touch of my fingers. They hesitate over his wound. He’s so fucking fragile and it…it’s fucking scary.

 

_None of that now,_ Sam says reminding me that it’s not my fault. He’s trying to reassure me. It means he’s okay, so on some level I’m relieved. But still fucking pissed off at myself. It doesn’t take long for me to disinfect and bandage. 

 

Our gazes lock in the bathroom mirror, and he proffers his wounded shoulder giving me his pouting lips. _Kiss it and make it better,_ he tempts with his eyes. Want to, but won’t. Such a stupid fucking wound, in such a stupid fucking place. He notices my frown as I cap the antibacterial gel and throw away the empty box of bandages. He pays good fucking attention and smiles all sparkly and shit. It’s annoying, but hell if it’s not a bit sexy. Love those teeth of his. 

 

I’m caught off guard as he pulls me into his lap. It’s dangerous. It’s always dangerous, but hard to resist moments like these. He agrees with my surface-y grin, it’s hilarious that we’re both on the toilet, me in his lap, and hard as hell. 

 

It’s moments exactly like this that I’m going to miss. It has never not been exciting and fresh between us, and we’ve been together since the beginning of time. We deserve a fucking medal. No one gets me like he does, and it’s so fucking rare that if we didn’t have that connection, dying would be easier. 

 

_Shit, I’m sorry Sammy,_ I whisper holding his head in my hands. I shouldn’t have gone there. My mind wanders internally for one second…like I said, he knows me too fucking well and the feeling, and the connection is entirely equal on both sides. 

 

He stares at me with those fucking wide eyes, filled with sadness and trepidation. He knows what I’m thinking about. And like a road-map meltdown, he’s thinking about it too. But that’s not the right word is it? He’s obsessing about it, because we’re together and I have one less day, and he’s one day closer…to life without…

 

So I grind my hips into his denim hardness. Just a little spark to jolt him back into the present. 

 

_Yeah, I do fight dirty, you little bitch,_ but how else am I supposed to fight? When it comes to my little brother, I’ll do it all. It doesn’t scare me that there are no limits to what I’ll do for him. But he already knows that…with the dying and all. 

 

Neither of us wants to fixate on it right now, so we lock lips instead. 

 

_Like you in my lap,_ he says grinning into my mouth pulling me into him a little bit more. Sweet holy mother his tongue should be illegal. The shit he does with that thing. 

 

I know how lucky I am. We are. To have entwined souls and be each other’s perfect mate. Most never find what we’ve always had and never had to look for.

 

_So fucking lucky,_ Sam agrees picking up on absolutely everything. He bends his head down all the way into my lap, and offers his shoulder to me once again. _Burns like a bitch. Kiss it and make it all better._

 

We read between the lines. It’s an art that I’ll admit took years to hone. We weren’t always so adept to each other and completely in fucking tune. We were both unsteady teenagers once. 

 

Still perfect for each other, but in a different way. More awkward moments, which were to be expected, in hindsight. Those were the formative years in which I made this boy _my Sammy._

 

It hits him. Why I won’t go near the wound. He just sighs. He’s trying to tell me that it’s okay. But it’s not fucking okay. Last night, _I_ bit him. _I_ marked him. _My Sammy._ Not some creature feature. Now this fresh wound covers everything. My mark, another old scar from a really great hunt. It’s killing me more than it should. I can’t look at him.

 

He guides my face back and holds my stare. His eyes, so full of adoration and illicit want. He wants me so bad. I can see, and I can feel it beneath me. 

 

_Still your Sammy,_ he mumbles nuzzling my neck, and planting soft kisses along my jaw. He buries his head in the crevice of my neck. Not a good sign. A perfect hiding spot. He doesn’t want me to know. Doesn’t want me to see his eyes. Foolishly he thinks that he can keep something from me. But I don’t need to see him, to understand. 

 

_Hey,_ I whisper, grinding myself down on top of him, trying to get this party going, _You’ll always be my Sammy._

 

He twitches in response, and bucks slightly into the friction. 

 

_Wanna fuck you,_ he growls suddenly, pushing into my chest, trying to mold us closer. Always closer. Doesn’t want space between us, Never has. I look at him for a moment, and assess. It’s more than want. He _needs_ to fuck me. And I’ll never deny him anything he needs. 

 

It’s been different since I told him about what I did. What’s going to happen to me. None of the petty shit seems to matter anymore. When you’re faced with death you have two choices. He made the choice for the both of us. To go down fighting. To try and find a way out. To spend as much time as possible inside each other, because he never could get enough, and never will get enough of that feeling. Perfect and in synch, like never before. It’s the only way we can be as close as he wants us to be. 

 

_Who’s the introspective now?_ Amusement glints in Sam’s eyes. His happiness is so rare these days that it makes me painfully harder than I already was. 

 

_Always you, little bitch,_ I say reaching for the snap of his jeans.

 

_Jerk,_ he whispers huskily leaning back against the wall. His defined stomach is splayed out against the wall for me to enjoy. He raises his arms above his head, and hell if I don’t catch a wink. It’s somewhat of an awkward situation, only because we’re sitting on the toilet. I look up at him, and he shakes his head. He doesn’t want to take this into the bedroom. He needs slutty bathroom sex. 

 

I’m not the one who is usually on top. In this situation, I certainly have to be. Sasquatch with his long legs…it’d never work. But Sam also wants to take lead tonight, and that’s fine with me. Though, we’ll never talk about it, and tomorrow things will return to normal. 

 

_Gotta stand for a sec,_ I groan. I’m working the jeans, trying to get them down off of Sam’s hips, but I’m in the way. Sam lowers his hands and pulls my hips closer. He shakes his head. His eyes beg me not to get up. _Can’t fuck me through denim,_ but it’s Sam and he probably could. I reassure him with a kiss. _It’ll be quick._ He lets my tongue parade against his lips, nipping and sucking. I put his hand on my heart, and it calms him for the moment. 

 

I’m up. My jeans and boxers are flung in the corner faster than you can say _fuck me harder, big boy._ As soon as I’ve got Sam’s pants down to his ankles, I sidle back into his lap.

 

_See? Fast._ Sam smiles. It’s fake. His hands start roaming on my skin. He’s trying to distract me. 

 

It’s a constant struggle to keep Sam with me in the present. He’s always slipping into the what will be of the future. I put his hand back on my heart, and I know he loves it’s steady thumping, but it doesn’t calm the storm in his eyes. I let it rest there for a moment, while I think of another way. I can’t pull out the big guns yet, because it’s still early in the night, and this is going to get a lot worse before it gets better. 

 

I’m multitasking here. My cock is dripping and twitching against Sam. He must feel it. I feel his. 

 

_C’mon Sam. Look at me. Be with me. Need you so bad._ I rub our dicks together, creating some much needed friction. A soft mewl escapes his throat, so at least I’m on the right track. It never ceases to amaze me how much my words mean to him. _Want you…to…fuck…me,_ I say, slow and even, moving his hand down to our dicks. 

 

_Yeah?_ He can’t resist a small smirk. 

 

_Oh yeah._ I confirm. Like I said. It’s a fucking battle to keep the kid with me. But when I pull him back from the darkness, it’s just so fucking worth it. 

 

_Wanna be in you so much,_ He strokes up my spine, sending shivers coursing through me. I can’t get enough of his mouth. Our tongues battle against each other resulting in making us so much harder. I need to come, but he’s going to drag it out. The only consolation is that it’ll be so much better when he makes me come, later. 

 

He focuses on my cock. Uses his hand, because he can’t use his lips. I’d like to see him try though. He feels so good. I can’t get enough. I’m bucking into his hand, silently pleading. 

 

He just smiles and keeps pumping. 

 

_M’gonna…_ and he stops. He enjoys the gentle whine I produce when he removes his hand. _Fucking tease,_ I let him know. 

 

_Hmm, well I guess I can just let you come now,_ he whispers into my chest. _Or I can fuck you till you weep. But whatever, if you want…_

 

I silence those words with my mouth, kissing him fiercely. It’s all teeth and tongue, and somewhere one of us has drawn blood. Just a drop, but its coppery taste spreads like wildfire and mixes with our saliva. I reach for the lube, sitting on the sink. I pop the cap off, and we briefly follow it with our eyes as it flies through the air, landing near the door. 

 

I grab Sam’s cock, and rub it all over. He keens into the feeling, thrusting his head forward, giving me sloppy hazy kisses. 

 

He smiles deeply as he inserts the first finger into my twitching hole. Feels good, but I want more. I let him know that with an impatient grunt. He slides in a second finger, making sure that I’m ready. 

 

_Been a while since I fucked you, be patient. Don’ wanna hurt you,_ he hums against me. 

 

Always the Saint. Saint Samuel Winchester, with two fingers stuck up his brother’s ass. 

 

_Want you, Sammy._

 

He’s slowly pushing his fingers in and out, teasing me. But he needs to fucking put his cock up my ass, right the fuck now. I’m not above doing it for him. 

 

He senses my impatience, and just smiles. He takes his fingers out and leisurely guides his cock into my ass. He does it painfully slow. But it’s overtaken by the all-consuming feeling of absolute fullness, which only Sam can give me. 

 

_Worth the wait?_

 

Like I need to answer that question. He’s not moving, letting me adjust to him. Want him to move so badly. 

 

_Don’t be impatient, jerk._

 

_Well, don’t be a tease, bitch_

 

He’s got the control, and I’m okay with that. Except I’m not. I need to be in control, and it’s hard to give it over so freely. He better appreciate what this means. He grabs my hips, his fingers digging in deep as he starts to move. 

 

We both smile at the bruises to be. Wouldn’t want it any other way. Temporary marks of ownership. For days to come it will be a silent reminder that Sam Winchester had his way with me. 

 

It starts out slow. He pulls out a bit and I start to feel excruciatingly empty. It’s the most agonizing feeling in the world. But I try to be patient, because it will be worth it. And it is. 

 

He jolts back into me with twice the speed and force. His fingers on my hips crush my skin, as he thrusts in an out of me. 

 

It’s mind-blowing, and I’m afraid that he’ll slip away before I can do anything. So I preemptively wrap my arms around his neck and pull his head to my heart. 

 

_Feel the way it beats...just for you._ Oh, he likes that a lot, and I reap the rewards

 

_So tight, Dean,_ he snarls, filling me up. I lick at the thin layer of sweat covering his body. Salty and Sam. 

 

My eyes let him know it’s the best taste in the world. 

 

He’s thrusting faster, shifting into fifth. Trying to find my elusive sweet spot.

 

_Fuck me harder Ponyboy,_ did I say that out loud? 

 

His eyes smirk, letting me know that I did. 

 

_Hold on,_ he growls, shoving hard, finding that magic spot that makes my eyes roll back. 

 

Over and over, he thrusts harder and faster. Not needing me to tell him. 

 

And it’s like Christmas, and birthdays, and every kiss. 

 

It’s Sam at sixteen, crawling into my bed, after Dad is asleep. 

 

It’s Sam at seventeen, on his knees sucking me into rock hardness for the first time. It’s his swollen lips afterward asking if he did a good job.

 

It’s knowing that he’s always there, standing in the shadows, watching over me. 

 

It’s the absolute fact that if we were deaf, dumb, and blind, it would still be _this good._

 

It’ll always be this incredible, and improbable, and it never ceases to amaze either of us. 

 

It’s gravity defying harmony. 

 

_M’nothing without you._ I wish I hadn’t said it out loud either. It’ll haunt me later. 

 

He simply looks at me with his sweat shined face, and offers his non-wounded shoulder, while still bucking inside me. My teeth sink into his shoulder, and I know I’ve reached home. He gasps in pleasure, as I lick at my mark. 

 

_Fucking…vampire,_ he breathes heavily into my ear. But he fucking loves it. His hand is still wrapped around me, and he’s stroking faster. He nudges at me frantically with his nose. Not sure how much longer he’s going to be able to hold on. He wants me to catch his gaze. Too afraid, too something, to ask out loud. 

 

But he wants it, and I’ll never deny him. He took charge tonight, he deserves this. So I nod, and he wets his lips. I can feel his cock thrumming violently and uncontrollably in anticipation inside of me. 

 

I tilt my neck towards his mouth. As he bites down, and slams into me one last time with everything he’s got, I explode onto his belly, pushing further into his teeth, and onto his cock, and he rocks both of our orgasms to completion. He makes it known that I am his. 

 

_Shit, baby, who’s the vampire now?_ I pant, trying to catch my breath. I’ve got no other words. Just more carnal desire for his mouth. Definitely his second best asset. He parts his lips for me, relishing in my taste. 

 

It’s afterglow and I love it a lot. Can’t be still and let it wash over me. All I want to do is fuck Sam with my tongue, and play with his body some more. My fingers dance through his hair caressing, and scratching playfully. I can’t get enough of the persistent throb I feel in my neck, where Sam sunk his teeth. 

 

His hands are playing too, but they’re slowing down. I estimate about another minute and a half before he’s gone to the world. He feels bad every time. I jest, but I don’t really care. Too happy at this point to ever care. He tries so hard to stay with me.

 

_Love you a lot,_ he mumbles into my neck, soothing the thrum of his bite with his tongue. 

 

_Yeah?_ I ask, grinning. He simply nods and focuses on the bite. It’s perfect when we’re in each other, because everything else disappears. And I don’t think other people would ever understand how vital that is to our survival. It’s the only way we know how to deal. 

 

But he’s not inside me now, and I feel the wetness in the crook of my neck. It’s always been the perfect place for him to hide. Reality has set back in, so I wrap my arms protectively around him, letting him know that it’s okay. Letting him know that I don’t think anything of it. I can feel the tremble of his lower lip against my skin. He’s fighting, trying to stay silent. It seems to work. 

 

So I just ghost my finger over the small of his back in small circles. I hide in his neck as well. The only real thing that scares me about dying, is that I won’t be able to take care of him anymore. And I want him to be happy, but my insecurities don’t want anybody else to take care of him. 

 

He was given to me. And it’s my job. And things get fucked up if I can’t do my job. Because no ones does _this_ job better. 

 

Nobody else knows when to let him cry. Where he likes to be touched, how to bring him back. Nobody else knows how to bring him back. 

 

My heart beats wildly, and we’re so far into each other, that I know he feels it. He pushes us apart, just enough so that he can slip his hand over my heart. He takes mine from the small of his back and places it over his heart. Steady and calm. 

 

I can barely get the words out. 

 

_Who’s gonna bring you back when I’m…?_ I’ve never had more fear. Chest to chest, hands over each other’s hearts, he drifts over to my ear. His breath is hot.

 

_You, Sodapop. It’s always gonna be you._

 

And he’s right. Fuck hell, I’ll find a way.

 

 

~


	3. Scars

I think I loved him first. I know I’ve loved him always, but I think I crossed that line before he did. He doesn’t agree, but really, he just doesn’t like to lose.

 

That’s the thing about Dean. He doesn’t like to lose. Especially when it comes to me. He doesn’t like to lose to other people, and he sure as hell doesn’t like to lose people. Which makes it hard. Mom, Dad, and then me. Death never stood a chance when it tried to take me. Dean made sure of that.

 

So I get it. Why he did what he did.

 

Because I would have done it too. Just didn’t have the opportunity. 

 

And that’s the thing about me. I’d do almost all the things Dean would do, if given the opportunity. 

 

I don’t want to be here. But Dean is insisting that we get out and try and have some fun. But fun is for people who have time. All I want is to find a way to fix this. If I could just…

 

_Drink this, Sam._ Dean thrusts a small shot glass at me. I shake my head. I don’t want to be here. I just want to be with Dean, alone in our room. I just want him to touch me, and he never does. Not in public. It’s an unwritten rule. Which I don’t like, but I understand. But every single second he doesn’t touch me, is a second wasted. It’s a second closer. And seconds turn into minutes…I don’t want to be here. _We’re not leaving yet,_ he says eyeing me carefully. 

 

_Get the fuck out of my head,_ I grumble, turning away from him. 

 

There are those moments, when our connection is so strong, that it just overtakes all senses, it overtakes everything. But then there are moments like this, when he sees me, he knows what I’m thinking, but it doesn’t matter. And it’s so damn frustrating that I’m ready to leave and walk home, alone. 

 

I’m pissed and he knows it. Probably something to do with my flared nostrils, and lack of a poker face. I should just leave. I’m in a bad way. I want too much from him on a night like this. A night in which he can give only so much. 

 

See, I know my brother. Fun is probably the last thing on his mind. This is an escape. I look over at him, and he’s taking a steady swig from some bottle of local brew. So really, he’s one of two things. Pissed with himself or pissed with me. He’s probably the first but is going to take it out on the latter. 

 

It’s just something I have to deal with occasionally. I’ve dealt with more. He deals with my shit, so really…I should probably stay. Let him work out his anger. 

 

He smirks at me, taking another swig, as I down the shot. He’s realized he’s won, and I’m staying. I may be staying, but I’m not going to pretend to be in any other mood than the one I am in. 

 

Because he knows we shouldn’t be here. I should be at the computer finding a way, or we should be in bed working out his frustrations in a better and more satisfying way. 

 

He arches an eyebrow at me. _Is that all you think about?_ He asks, rolling his eyes.

 

I need to work on my poker face. I can’t be that obvious. Sighing, I signal for the waitress to get me a beer. 

 

It’s not _all_ I think about. Though I’m not going to lie, I do think about it a lot. I want Dean all the time. All the time. It’s not fair, and sometimes I think it’s one-sided. 

 

_What’s the matter, little one?_ Dean asks, all innocent and endearing and shit. Like he really cares. I make with the pout, because I’m getting more depressed by each passing minute. Everything is falling apart. 

 

I just turn away from him and stare at the entrance. Because he knows what I want, and he won’t give it to me. Not here. Stupid gin joint, this is why we shouldn’t be here. We’re sitting at the bar, and I’m closest to the door. It’d be easy to just leave. Let Dean get drunk, alone. 

 

But I don’t want to be away from him. Even if it means spending my night in this hellhole. 

 

I kind of just want to lay my head down on the bar and rest. I’m that tired. I don’t look at Dean. I don’t want him to know. 

 

I clutch the bottle tightly, because I need to touch _something._ Because I’ve never been this in love in my entire life. Not with anyone. Each day, I just want him more, and there are no handbooks on loving your brother. 

 

Dean only has two months and nine days. 

 

Tomorrow he’ll only have two months and eight days. 

 

And then, before I can blink, I’ll be in love with a dead man. 

 

I’m gripping the bottle so tight, that it’s going to shatter if I don’t stop. I’m breaking down fast. _Shit,_ I think to myself. _Shit, shit, shit._ My heart is clenched, I can feel it constricting in my chest. My lungs are compressing to the point that it’s hard to breath. All these things…pushing me to tears. 

 

But I won’t. Not here. Because I don’t need too, not really. I’m just angry and frustrated and this is what happens to my body when the shit I deal with gets out of control. 

 

I shouldn’t have turned away from him. It wouldn’t have gotten this bad. He would have pulled me back into the here and now instead of letting this happen. My own fault. 

 

_Sammy,_ Dean says real low. His words are slow, and suspicious. _You’re holding that bottle pretty hard._ And just like that his fingers whisper their way across my white knuckles. 

 

He should not have done that. 

 

Because he knows what I wants. And this, this is just a fucking tease. His fingers slowly slide off the hand I have on the bottle. 

 

Just like that they’re gone, and I’m left wanting more. He’s goading me to look at him. Because there is only so much that my stiff shoulders will tell him. It’s the fucking eyes. Always has been. 

 

_Leave me alone._ I whisper in a soft and strangled voice. I shouldn’t have said anything. Now I’m just feeding him what he wants. 

 

My hand hurts. So I let go of the bottle. My gaze is still fixated on the door. 

 

I know he’s staring at me. I can always feel him. All I want is for him to use me instead of this bar. Why can’t he escape in me? 

 

Maybe I’m not enough. 

 

That’s a running theme with us. Love was never a problem. Desire, wanting, not that either. But worthiness, that’s always been the issue.

 

We’ve both fucked up in the past. He thought I left him for Stanford because he didn’t deserve me and I had finally realized that. 

 

But I left because I didn’t deserve _him._

 

It took a long time to get over. But we did, because that’s what he do. We were made for each other and there was never any other option. 

 

When I look at Dean, I see myself. I see everything I want to be. 

 

When he looks at me, he sees himself. He sees my heart, and he knows he can’t live without it. 

 

Which is why…he did what he did. Because he cannot live without me. 

 

But he expects me…he expects me to live without him? 

 

He brought me back. He brought me back, only to leave me, alone. And it’s impossible to breathe when you realize something like that. 

 

I need to leave. I can’t be here. He can’t see this. 

 

It’s the brainless fucking waitress. She knocks over her tray, and all the empties crash to the floor. It’s instinctual. Who wouldn’t look? 

 

And it’s slow motion, because the gravity of everything I’m thinking is painted across my face. It covers every inch. My head cocks to the left because of the noise and before I can turn away, Dean has it in a vice-grip. 

 

I can’t close my eyes now, because we’re staring at each other. I’m not so weak as to just shut down like that. 

 

But now he sees me. His eyes delve into my soul, pulling everything I’m trying to hide. He knows everything I’m thinking. 

 

I have to get out of here. 

 

I reach up to pull his hand off. 

 

_Sam, I had too._ He says. I nod, because I know. Like I said, I would have done it too. 

 

I try to smile. Make light of it all. Because we won’t deal with this here. Dean would never allow it. More than anything I want to lean into his hand. Press my cheek into his rough palm. All of the want rises to the surface. All of the heartache I’ll have to endure. I don’t know how on ea….

 

And then it’s magic and bliss and peace and quiet. 

 

Dean’s lips finding mine, saving me from everything. Pulling me in with his hand, wrapping the other affectionately around my waist. 

 

He’s giving me everything I want. He’s breaking all his rules, just for me. 

 

And when he pulls back, he looks into my eyes, bringing our foreheads together. 

 

_I never wanted you to be alone._

 

And I believe him. Because it’s Dean, and he doesn’t lie to me. 

 

His hand is still wrapped around my waist. 

 

His other hand is on my shoulder. 

 

Our foreheads are resting against each other. 

 

My grin is wild and bright. 

 

He manages to roll his eyes, but he doesn’t pull away. 

 

My eyes tell him how badly I needed this. 

 

His eyes tell me he needed this too.

 

Because Dean only has two months and nine days. So rules are meant to be broken. 

 

There it is again. That stupid fucking expiration date. Bringing me back to actuality. 

 

_Don’t let go,_ I plead, begging him with my eyes. Because I don’t think I could stand it. 

 

He shakes his head letting me know he won’t. It doesn’t matter anymore where we are. He no longer cares who sees. And it should make me wildly happy, but instead I’m just scared shitless. 

 

So he kisses me again. Softer this time. His lips are gentle, letting me decide what kind of kiss this will be. Fire brims beneath the surface, but he’s giving me control, and I’m grateful because I can’t handle too much right now. 

 

_Let’s get out of here,_ he says, gently pulling away from the kiss. I’m just about to remind him about not letting go, when he threads his fingers through mine, and stands us up. 

 

He’s Dean. And he’s mine. And everyone in the bar can see that in the way he’s looking at me. The way he’s not looking at anything else. And my heart, for the first time in days, feels complete.

 

We’re outside, heading to the car. His hand is still firmly entwined in mine. 

 

I stop walking, which makes him stop. 

 

_Kiss me again,_ I tempt, not sure he’ll oblige. 

 

But he does. And it’s like summer after months of winter. I can’t help but smile. 

 

I notice, though, that he’s not smiling. He’s somewhere else, and I don’t know when that happened. 

 

I open my mouth to try and talk, but his tongue slips in forcing my silence. He’s pushing us up against the far wall of the bar, out of sight. 

 

His kiss turns possessive as he slams me against the exposed brick. 

 

He smashes into me upon impact, and snakes a hand up my shirt. 

 

His other hand immediately finds the small of my back. 

 

He palms the scar that’s centered there. I remember that hunt. I was only 13. But it was Dad that almost got me killed…not Dean. 

 

Dean’s thrusting his tongue halfway down my throat, and massaging the scar like there’s no tomorrow. 

 

He’s making it impossible to understand. His fingers knead into the scar, and I get the feeling like he’s trying to erase it. 

 

My thoughts are muddled and I can only focus on so much, and right now it’s the fact that he’s pressing his hard-on against me. Feels so good. 

 

He’s got a hand on my chest, underneath my shirt. It’s up against my heart. He’s working the scar, and his movements are desperate and erratic. 

 

I was only 13. Dean had pneumonia. He was holed up back at the house, and I was with Dad. Alone. 

 

Dean’s rubbing his body against me, making me lust with want. Making me ache for him. His kisses are fast and sloppy, roving around my face and neck. 

 

We’re both breathing hard, and Dean’s movements become more and more unpredictable. 

 

I can’t help it. My mind is working overtime trying to decipher, but my dick is throbbing, and I can barely stand it when Dean starts palming me through my jeans. 

 

_Shit,_ I say, unable to control myself. Dean bites down softly on my earlobe, breathing deeply against me. 

 

I was with Dad. Backwoods hunt. But I don’t remember. I don’t get it. It was bad. I almost died. Woke up in the hospital. It was just Dad and I. Dean wasn’t…there. 

 

_Stop,_ I mutter, trying to get the words out. _Fucking stop._ But he can’t and he won’t. 

 

He knows I won’t make him stop. 

 

So I bring my hand back and cover Dean’s. Forcing him to stop with the scar. I swallow tightly. 

 

He drags his lips off of me and leans into the brick. Won’t look at me. I tighten my hold around his hand. 

 

It’s an apology. He blames his not being there. He thinks he could have saved me. But he left me…alone, with Dad. 

 

The now red skin vibrates from the excessive rubbing. He’s trying to control his breathing, trying to ground himself. 

 

I can’t see his expression because he’s bent into the wall, but I can hear him. And that’s all I need right now, to know what he’s feeling.

 

He finds my neck, and buries himself into it. He wants to speak, but his emotions are too wild; too scattered for words.

 

My touch is gentle. I guide his hand up along my spine, and settle it on another scar. 

 

This one wasn’t too long ago. Blindsided by some she-bitch. Dean ganked her just in time. Could have died, but didn’t. 

 

Because they’re just scars. Distant memories. Old stories. I reach my other arm over and move his right hand up to my shoulder. To the only scar that matters to me. To his scar, made just for me. See, some of them are bad, but some are too fucking good for words. 

 

We stay like this for a bit. He’s calming down.

 

_Didn’t wanna leave you alone…_ he mumbles into my neck, laying kisses on my skin. 

 

_I know,_ I answer, reassuring him that I’m alive and that’s all that matters. 

 

_Just love you…too fucking much._

 

He does love me. Too much to let me suffer. Too much to let me die. Too much to deny me anything. 

 

But he forgets that I love him too. 

 

I’d do anything for him. 

 

So I slowly drop to my knees and unsnap his jeans. 

 

The zipper makes a long soft quivering noise as I slide it down. 

 

I need to be more constructive. The way I acted tonight, inside the bar…letting myself go to that place. It’s not good for either of us. I want to be a better person for him. He deserves that. 

 

As I pull his cock from his boxers, Dean inhales sharply, bracing himself against the brick. 

 

I swipe my tongue around his head, and take him into my mouth.

 

Can’t help but smile internally when he bucks into me uncontrollably. 

 

I hear his hands slap the wall, trying to steady his urges. 

 

No one’s ever stood a chance against Dean. We are warriors, and this is the battle. And the war is long, and hard, and sometimes we don’t think we’ll make it. 

 

So we cope. And we deal. 

 

His hands are roaming around, playing with my hair. He’s trying not to push me to take more, but I know he wants too. So I do. 

 

_Fucking hell, Sam._ He grunts deeply, moving a hand back to the wall. He’s jerking into me, trying to hold back. But I don’t want him to hold back. I want him to let go. 

 

I was 14 when I knew I wanted Dean in another way that wasn’t entirely brotherly. And I knew that I couldn’t do anything about it then. But I loved him, just as I love him now. 

 

So maybe it doesn’t matter if I loved him first, as long as we wants me as much as I crave everything about him. 

 

I open my throat and unhinge my jaw in order to take him deeper, trying to get him to let go of any hesitancy, any fear of hurting me. 

 

I want him to believe that I’m strong enough to survive. Even if it’s not true. 

 

I reach up his hip and follow a long scarred line that wraps around his back. 

 

_Feel this?_ I whisper, replacing my mouth with my hand. I lean into his abdomen and caress the long scar. I look up at him with those wide eyes he loves. _Feel this?_ I repeat, waiting for acknowledgement. 

 

He just nods breathing deeply, exhaling his resistance. He pulls me back onto his cock, and plunges deep into my throat, filling me finally. 

 

That line. That jagged scar. That’s when I saved him. It’s a two way street. 

 

Everything is changing. I’m no longer sucking him off; he’s fucking my mouth. 

 

I have to remember to breathe through my nose. I grip tightly onto his thighs, letting him lose control. 

 

He might feel bad _later_ , but it’s too good _now_ to matter. 

 

_Shit, Sam, M’gonna, pull back. Don’ wanna…_

 

But I hold steady, letting him know that I intend to swallow. 

 

He’s pushing at my head, trying to get me to back off, but I don’t budge. 

I want everything he can give me. I don’t care if it’s sick or twisted, but I need it. I tighten my lips and hum sweetly, sending him careening into another place and time completely. 

 

He shouts curses into the wall as he spills into my mouth, letting the orgasm ripple through his muscles. 

 

Our first hunt, alone. 

 

The first time I told him I loved him.

 

The first time he put crème _and_ sugar into my coffee.

 

The first time he kissed me in a bar.

 

I gag a bit, but swallow everything I can. It’s not about the taste. It’s just Dean. It’s just another part of him and I want it like I do everything else. 

 

He pulls me up to his mouth, taking the time to lick himself off my swollen lips. 

 

He reaches under my waistline and grabs my cock firmly.

 

We both grin as I come, moments later. 

 

It’s just that simple. Being with each other is just that easy. Watching his orgasm practically brought me to my own. 

 

He holds me tight as I tremble against him. 

 

All of this, it just makes me want him more. 

 

We’re forehead to forehead again. 

 

We need nothing else. We want nothing else. Just each other…just more time to enjoy each other.

 

_Sam,_ Dean whispers, closing his eyes, _I don’t…I don’t want to die._

 

_Never gonna happen, baby._

 

And I mean it. They can fucking try, but I’m a Winchester. Enough said. 

 

 

~


	4. Achilles Heel

_Sam, put the book down._ It’s all he’s been doing. Non-stop since that night at the bar. It’s not that I don’t think it’s necessary; it’s just that it’s been four days since he’s done anything else, and well...fuck. 

 

I miss him. 

 

I walk over to the table piled high with books, and reach over to Sam.

 

_Put the book down, baby._ He’s got a slight tremble in his hands. Something I’ll have to address later. But right now, he needs me. He can hide behind these damned books for only so long. 

 

_Just let me work. Please._ Sam is begging, but he lets me take the book. I motion over to the bed, but he shakes his head. He doesn’t think that there’s time.

 

But it’s him and it’s me. There _isn’t_ enough time and we have to make it count. There has never been enough time. So I pull him over to the bed anyway and situate us so that his head is resting on my chest. Trying to calm him down with the steady beat of my heart. _Usually works._

 

His hands are clenched in my shirt. He’s too fucking fragile today. We can’t escape it. Not today. He seems so small against me, and that’s a hard feat to achieve.

 

Sometimes I think that I could lose him to all of this. Lately I feel him slipping from me. 

 

So we lay in silence. Because I know now, that he _won’t_ find a way to save me. But I refuse to let him know that. Yet. Because what kind of brother would I be? What kind of person would I be to let Sam know what I know too soon? Later is better. At least I hope.

 

_Tell me...tell me our story,_ Sam asks in a tiny whisper. And now I know the world is crashing down around us, because he only asks for that when it’s rock bottom and he’s falling hard.

 

The story. Our story. An epic tale of love, loss, and lust. True strength of blood and warrior hearts. 

 

And I can’t. Because it’s too real and it’s just too soon. It’s still a work in progress. The last time...before he left for Stanford. It almost killed me to say the words out loud. 

 

I shake my head, because I can’t do it. It’s too much. He looks at me, reminding me that I can’t deny him anything. 

 

But he’s wrong. I can deny him this. At least for now.

 

_Not tonight, Sam._ Because I can’t, and I won’t. He tries to get up from the bed and resume his research. But I grab his wrist and pull him into my lap. _How about ‘their’ story, though?_

 

It’s obvious I’m trying to appease him, I just hope it works. Because my bag of tricks is getting empty. I can only pull so many rabbits out of so many hats. 

 

And he nods, because he likes _this_ story as well. It’s a story I’ve told since we were 9 and 5. A story that evolved as we did. 

 

Sam lays back and burrows into my chest, making himself comfortable. 

 

My hands find their way to him and run through his hair and trace old Latin symbols on his skin. So simple. So intimate. So fucking perfect. One of those things that you know you’re going to miss.

 

He really does like this story. The not so often told story of Achilles and Patroclus. 

 

Friends like brothers. Brothers turned lovers. 

 

 

_So as it is written, Achilles’ mother dipped him in the Styx to make in him invulnerable to weapons._ I can already see his eyes perking up. _When she put him in the water, she held on to his ankle...the only part that didn’t touch the water..._

 

Sam brings his forehead to mine. _Get to the good stuff, jerk._

 

All I can do is roll my eyes and tell him to shut up. 

 

_Patroclus was appointed Achilles’ squire when they were still boys. They grew up together. They did everything together._

 

Sam stretches out his arm and brings traces it along my heart.

 

_They were always in love, weren’t they Dean?_

 

It’s just the sound in his voice. The incredibly soft and wide-eyed tone that he’s always had. 

 

_Yeah Sam. Just like us. They were always in love._

 

He turns his head away, but I can feel his deep grin against my stomach. Because it’s true. Like Achilles and Patroclus we have always been in love with each other, in exactly the right way the other one needed at the time. 

 

I don’t really tell the story anymore. I sort of just let Sam guide me. What he wants to hear and what parts are important to him. When we were kids, it was always battle tactics and crazy stunts they performed in battle.

 

When teenagers, it was the bonds of two brothers. And then it progressed into a tale of possession and love. 

 

It’s their story, but it’s our story too. Not _our story._ But it’s belongs to us all the same. 

 

_No one really knows why they fell in love. It was just the way it was. They were each other’s closest companion._

 

I pause for a moment, trying to stay in the early years. Things were easier then. For both Achilles and myself. But like all stories, they continue.

 

_Well there was this war. Maybe you’ve heard of it? The Trojan War._

 

Sam slaps me softly, and turns back to face me. 

 

_I know what the Trojan War was, dumb-ass._ He gives me his very best disinterested college education eyes. 

 

I suddenly feel this overwhelming need to stall. To take the story back. It’s hard. Because I’ve told this story, a thousand times it seems. But never since...not since things changed. 

 

I can’t even fucking say it. Since the fucking deal. Since that. 

 

Now the story just seems wrong to say out loud. It feels hurtful to continue, though we both already know the ending. But I know what happens if I kill this story. 

 

I’ll be telling _our story,_ which we’ve already established as not going to happen. So toughen the fuck up this is for Sam. 

 

_You know, when Achilles was maybe eleven..._

 

Sam reaches under my shirt and delicately pinches my nipple. The sensations of pain and pleasure course through me, causing me to stop mid-sentence.

 

Our eyes briefly meet, and wage a silent battle of wills. He wins. Not because of the subtle physical violence against my pecks, but because this is something that I need to get through. 

 

Getting through this will mean something. At least I hope. 

 

_Right, so the Trojan War. Well Achilles and Patroclus fought together. Achilles was the most amazing soldier. He and his elite band of warriors were not to be messed with._

 

Sam’s hand is still under my shirt. But no pinching. More of the caressing type motions now. Which it totally okay with me. 

 

_Watching those two fight together side by side, working as one...it would have been fucking awesome Sam._

 

Sam smiles and leans in. He hovers over my lips for a second before stealing a quick but soft kiss. All too soon, he’s back in my chest, ear to my heart.

 

_Dean?_ He pauses, and I feel the sort of fidgeting begin. In the way that only Sam knows how. Easier for me to just ask him what’s on his mind, but it’s better in the long run if he just reaches that point himself.

 

We lay there in silence for a while longer, when I finally here Sam sigh. 

 

Dean...another pause. _Who do you think I am...in this story?_

 

I’ll bet ten grand that this is not the question he wants to ask. But I’ll buy a vowel anyhow. 

 

_I don’t know._ And that’s the truth. The accounts of both Achilles and Patroclus have really made me think that Sam could be either or both, really. _Well most say that Achilles was fucking gorgeous. Possibly younger than Patroclus. So well...that’s you Sam._

 

Sam closes his eyes, and things haven’t changed. But I’ll give him some time, because this kid has surprised me on more than one occasion. 

 

_But well, Patroclus fucking loved Achilles. I mean fucking loved him. Even though there were some girls in Achilles’ life, he knew that he was the one. That they were better than everyone else. And well I mean...I don’t know._ Now I’m annoyed. And frustrated. What the hell? _It’s a stupid question Sam. You can be whoever. I don’t care._

 

But I think that’s a lie. I think I do fucking care. A lot. Not that it really matters. But maybe it does fucking matter. See what story telling does to me? I go all mother fucking goose for one minute...

 

_Shut up._ Oh Sam. How well you know my rambling mind. _Okay._ Sam props himself up on an elbow, and removes his hand from under my shirt.

 

My entire body goes cold. One hand that radiates so much heat. And now I’m just...cold.

 

I don’t know what to expect. It’s Sam, and I know something is brewing. I feel like I should just finish the story.

 

_Well both fight valiantly in the war. But there came a time, when Achilles had enough. He wanted nothing more to do with the war. It wasn’t until Patroclus died, that he fought again. Fought to avenge him. Then he was killed by Paris. Arrow in the ankle. Both died...._

 

Like a rush of wind, and a long exhale I finish the story. Sure I might have left out the details but...whatever. At this point, I’d almost rather be telling our story. _Almost._

 

Sam looks at me thoughtfully. He leans in close, finding my lips again and draws me into him. His tongue whispers its way into my mouth. It’s always so fucking easy. Kissing Sam like there’s no tomorrow. Probably because we both understand that there might not be a tomorrow. And we both know that even if there is...there won’t be many more. 

 

But what I thought to be intense with the passion, sort of turns into something softer. Slower. But still managing to be hot as hell.

 

When he pulls back, I can’t help but whimper. Just a little. 

 

He breathes deeply. 

 

_I think...I think that you’re Achilles._

 

His hand traces the waistline of my jeans, and we both feel my body react. 

 

_How come?_ I ask, because I need to know. Patroclus was really thought to be older and wiser...so what’s his reasoning? Achilles was arrogant and....just what is it that Sam means?

 

_You skipped over some details. When Patroclus died...Achilles went crazy. Went fucking crazy. You know he would have raised him from the dead if the Gods would have allowed it._

 

Cue the abrupt pause. Sam’s right. I am Achilles. Because I did leave out the details. 

 

Achilles flung over Patroclus’ body, cursing the world and everyone in it. Blatantly letting the world know his love for him. Sam’s turned away, but he blindly reaches for my hand. I take it eagerly.

 

Because fuck. 

 

_Remember when Achilles would pray to the Gods?_

 

I remember. 

 

Sam turns back to me, eyes dark with sorrow. 

 

_Dean?_ He searches my eyes for recognition. _When Achilles begged the Gods to rid the world of all mankind...except Patroclus and himself?_

 

_I remember,_ I notice a gentle quiver in my voice. 

 

And I do. Remember what Sam is trying to get across. The fact that his prayers were never answered. That both he and Patroclus died too young. That they never got to have... 

 

And oh, God. Oh Fuck. Oh holy hell. _Sam..._ Because that’s what he’s been doing. 

 

He sits up and stares at me, his eyes so wide and horrified. 

 

_Why isn’t God answering me, Dean?_

 

That’s the question.

 

I hold out my arms, because I don’t have the answer he wants. I hold out my arms because I need him just as much. But I hold out my arms and he doesn’t fall into them. 

 

He’s really exposed himself to me. Bearing his soul like that. And maybe he’s reached a limit? Because I look at Sam and what I see makes it hard to breathe. 

 

The best way to describe what happens is that he disappears. It doesn’t make sense, but something turns off. The light goes off, fuck I really can’t describe it. I’m not going to lie about how nervous this makes me. 

 

_Sam?_ But Sam gives me a half smile and gets off the bed. 

 

No. No.

 

This is not what was supposed to happen. Me. Mother fucking goose. Good story that leads to good sex. What just happened? 

 

He’s back with the research before I can blink. But I do. Blink that is. Thinking that when I open my eyes, whatever just happened won’t have happened. 

 

_Sam? Come back to bed._ The tremble that was in his hands, well now it’s in mine. He doesn’t look up from the pile of books. _Come back to bed Sam._ It’s definitely more of a demand now. 

 

But still. Nothing. I absolutely refuse to let this happen. Because it’s my deepest fear. 

 

If he won’t come to me, then I’ll go to him. It’s unlike me. To do this type of thing. But let it be known that this is how fucking much I love him. 

 

What’s happening now, it feels so in my head. Because no one else would notice this type of thing. No one. Not Dad. Not even Jessica. It’s something only I would ever notice. 

 

It’s because of the simple fact that I know Sam well enough to be Sam. His thoughts, his idiosyncrasies, his movements, his everything. 

 

Each passing second makes me more and more terrified. Because this is real. It’s all happening so fast. I don’t know what to do. If I blink again it might all be gone. There’s only been one other time. And that time I lost him. I didn’t get him back. Not for years. I lost him that night before he left me for California. 

 

I can’t go through that again. 

 

I don’t have years. I barely have two months. 

 

_Sammy,_ did I even say it aloud? There’s nothing there in his face to let me know. Please. Baby don’t do this to me. Please. I can’t say it out loud. No point. 

 

_Look at me._ He briefly turns his head, and raises his eyebrows. 

 

I sink to my knees, because I can’t stand. Because the world has fallen from underneath me. So fast. So sudden. Just like that he’s gone, and I can’t bring him back...because he’s not dead. 

 

He’s just gone. 

 

_What’s the matter with you Dean?_

 

I’m going crazy. It’s all in my head. He’s still there. My Sam. My Sammy. I’m just going crazy. And I never thought it would feel this great to be insane. I just imagined it all. The light going out. That’s not the Sam I know now. It was just a brief momentary...whatever it was. 

 

_Sammy,_ I breathe an enormous sigh of relief, letting it cleanse my blood and flow through me. I lean into his lap. 

 

He looks at me, eyebrows still raised. And then he rolls his eyes.

 

_It’s Sam._

 

And shit. It hasn’t been Sam in forever and a day. It’s not the playful way he joked when we were kids. It’s serious. He’s shut it off. Whatever it is that I can’t fucking describe. 

 

He’s shutting me out. Playing dumb. Closing me out. Pretending that what we are, never was. 

 

_Sammy._ I grab a hold of his thighs, gripping tightly, because the bottom is falling out. 

 

He shakes his head, pushing me off of him gently. 

 

But I hold on. I’m going to ride out this fucking storm if it takes all the time I’ve got. 

 

Just say something. Anything but that. Because he can’t be Sam. It was Sam when he left. It was Sam before we were. It’s not fucking Sam anymore. 

 

_You’re hurting me._ He speaks softly, prying my fingers off his thighs. But he loves bruises. 

 

It rolls in like thunder. 

 

I let go, because I can’t _hurt_ him. Never. Because it would _kill_ me. 

 

_Sammy._ My final plea. Kneeling in front of him. Begging with everything I’ve got. Heart exposed for him to save. 

 

It rolls in like thunder. 

 

He turns back. He turns away. 

 

_It’s Sam,_ he mutters softly. Only a whisper, just meant for his books. 

 

But to me it’s thunder. It’s lightning. 

 

And it’s as if I’m already dead. Because without Sam...

 

What’s the point of living?


	5. Unspoken Words

  
Author's notes: So hopefully this chapter helps to clarify the last chapter which was supposed to be confusing...but not that confusing :) We're picking up just seconds later. Enjoy, and again thanks so much for everyone who has been reading. It means the world to me!  


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He’s staring at me. How could he not? I’m thumbing through my research. It’s obvious that I’m just trying not to look at him. I mean everything I’m pretending to read is in Latin, and sure we’re well versed...but it’s not like I read it for pleasure. 

 

Ten bucks says he’s staring at me with my signature wide eyes. 

 

I hope he doesn’t think it’s his fault. 

 

He should have just told _our_ story. He held out his arms. He probably didn’t even understand why. Just instinct. 

 

Like the way my body always wants to be against his. Hand, knee, lips. Doesn’t matter which one…they all want to be touching Dean. 

 

There’s no doubt that the significance is lost on him. 

 

I shouldn’t have said anything. My big fucking mouth. Why isn’t God answering my prayers? Rookie mistake really. 

 

Fucking Achilles. Fucking Patroclus. They were one. So were we. I’m both, so is Dean. It doesn’t make on iota of difference...so why did I push? 

 

Oh Shit. 

 

It really is over. Note the accidental past tense.

 

So were we. I want nothing more than to write it off as a slip of the brain. But…

 

He held out his arms. 

 

In all the years. In all the decades…not once…never has he not had an answer.

 

_You’re shaking_ , Dean says quietly. Still kneeling, silently praying. Just an assumption. 

 

In all my training. In all the years I spent fighting alongside Dean…there has never been anything to prepare me for any of this. 

 

It’s not his fault. But he is out of answers. He’s giving up. And I can’t do that. 

 

It’s fucking weakness.

 

I shouldn’t have said what I said. It was a low blow. To suddenly not be _his_ Sammy anymore. But if I hadn’t…he would never have gotten the message. And the message is strong. It’s clear. 

 

And I am not fucking shaking. Except that I probably am. 

 

I have never felt more alone. And for the first time, I’m realizing that it’s how I’m going to feel for the rest of my life. 

 

It’s not too late. To just sink down next to him. Unite our front once again.

 

But it would be a lie. These changes are supposed to be gradual. But I don’t have time for gradual.

 

Dean has given up. That much is clear. He’s not the same person that I’ve loved my entire life. It’s as simple as that.

 

But it’s not that simple is it? One fucking contradiction after another. 

 

We’re brothers. First and foremost we will always be brothers. 

 

Which makes what I’m doing impossible. 

 

And what I’m doing…well I don’t know how to do it. 

 

All I know is that he held out his arms, and it dawned on me that I couldn’t depend on him any longer. Not the way I have before all this shit. It doesn’t seem like such a big deal. Except I’ve been depending on nothing _but_ him since the day he carried me out of our burning house. And since then we’ve happily lived our lives of dangerous co-dependency.

 

All of that is gone. And now I’ve been thrust into cold turkey no dependency. 

 

It’s normal to be questioning everything. Right? I mean I’m making catastrophic decisions, and…they shouldn’t have to be made alone.

 

Dean. I’m screaming now. I’m screaming so loud. I’m screaming inside my head with such despair that it’s silent. Everything in me feels like it is on fire. And Dean’s the remedy. He’s the ice. 

 

Mind over matter. Heart over mind. Love conquers…love conquers nothing. Here I am…resolute in what I’m doing, and my leg…my fucking leg, which just happens to be the closest thing to Dean, wants to be even closer. 

 

How do you change everything about yourself? How you react to someone? I’m not sure it’s possible. 

 

It’s time for Sammy to grow up. Sam once and for all. I don’t belong to anyone. I don’t fit in...anywhere. 

 

I’m a conflict. I’m a contradiction. Everything is wrong and nothing is right. I can only imagine what Dean is thinking right now. 

 

Probably about Stanford. But this…this has got to be at least a million times worse. Because it really is…forever. 

 

_Sam. Please. Don’t do this._ His words are so quiet…so resigned. _Baby, don’t do this._

 

Don’t get me wrong; I do know what he’s trying to do. But suddenly I’m numb to everything. Including his words.

 

There’s still a slight chance that Dean will die. If that’s the case…I need to survive on my own.

 

_Dean, get the fuck up off the floor. You look like a retard._ Tell me that I didn’t say that. No, the pain in my chest is evidence enough. I’m taking it too far. I won’t be able to come back from this. 

 

But I guess that’s the point. 

 

_No. Not until you talk to me._ If I were to look at him, his face would betray his resolute talk. He seems calm and collected. Patient even. But his eyes. It’s always been the eyes. For both of us. I’d see the storm. Feel the thunder. Maybe a spark of lightning. It’s just who he is. 

 

_We are talking_ …I roll my eyes. I swear my words are no longer my own. Maybe I’m possessed…God wouldn’t that be amazing. 

 

I know I’ve got to push him. But I also know that he’s going to push me. I am going to have to tell him. I mean you can’t really…you…you can’t break up with someone without telling them. 

 

Those words. That cliché. It’s bile in the back of my throat. It’s also kind of amusing in a twisted Rob Zombie kind of way. Breaking up with your brother…

 

God, Dean loves the _Devil’s Rejects_.

 

Deep breath Sam Winchester. I need to really shut myself down if we’re going to have this conversation. 

 

I remember leaving Dean for college like it was yesterday. Standing on the porch in the rain, so Dad wouldn’t hear us. More like tongue fucking Dean on the porch so Dad wouldn’t _see_ us. 

 

They were the sweetest and most bitter kisses. 

 

Both of us wanting more, but unable to ask for it. Dean wouldn’t come with me. And I couldn’t stay. One of those monumental impasse situations. Dean and his fucking loyalty to Dad. Except part of me knows that he didn’t think he could fit into my new world. Too hard for him to watch me make something of myself. 

 

It never mattered to me. But I was foolish to think that Dean would feel the same way. He’s a hunter. Down to the bone. Always fighting. 

 

He held out his arms and it all hit me. Everything I can’t say out loud. Because those words would ignite, and I would be engulfed in the flames. So I bury them and forget about them. Because I will save Dean. I will find the cure. And I don’t need Dean to do it. If he wants to give up, then fuck him. 

 

I’ve got to have room to breathe. Space and shit. Deep breath now. 

 

I need to sit on the floor. Being on the chair is too high. Up in the air somehow. I slide off the chair and sit Indian style across from Dean. 

 

My gaze focused intently on the carpet. From the corner, I see Dean hold out his hands. 

 

Contact. 

 

Touch.

 

All there, for my taking. Everything I always desire, just laid out for me. I didn’t even have to work for it. I want too. Because it’s Dean and it’s me. And my hands. My hands fit so well in his. 

 

No. I can’t. I shake my head. Because it’s Dean, and I’ve got to be careful. They disappear from my limited scope. 

 

_You want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?_ There’s no anger. It would be easier if there were anger. 

 

What’s going on in my head? _Nothing._ I don’t know why I bother; because it’s a lie…I haven’t fooled anyone. What a waste of a word. 

 

My heart stutters as Dean scoots closer and our knees touch. Heart racing. I shake my head. Vigorously. No. No. No. I shake my head. Crashing on impact. Tumbling down. Everything ripping. 

 

I move away, still shaking my head. Dean gets the message. I feel him move back as well. Now we’re further apart then when we started.

 

I suppose…that’s the goal. 

 

_Geeze, Sam. You breaking up with me or something?_ Soft laugh. What a ridiculous thought kind of laugh.

 

And I lift my head, because I owe him that much. This catches him off guard. He doesn’t expect this. 

 

I was right. About his eyes, I mean. So much there that his words alone cannot express. 

 

My eyes are resolute. Nothing can get by them. But I lower my gaze, because I can only shield myself for so long. His stare is the most piercing thing, and I’m defenseless against it. 

 

_I’m going to need a shot._ Dean stands, and reaches around the bed for a bottle of whiskey, and a shot glass. _You want?_ I must be nodding, because I here the soft clink of two shot glasses. 

 

Firm thud as he sits back down on the rug. _Well, princess, if you are going to break up with me, you better fucking look me in the eyes when you do it._

 

He’s being _too_ okay with this. He didn’t see this coming. Did he? Not possible. I didn’t even see this coming. And contrary to popular belief he doesn’t know me well enough to know my own thoughts before I even have them. 

 

I lift my head and meet his gaze. Firm and resolute. For the moment. He pours the amber liquid into our glasses and takes a shot. Before I even down mine he’s on his second. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Just the way he’s always done. 

 

Head down. I need to compose myself. 

 

_Got anything to say? Or are we playing the roll of deaf mute today…_

 

But really? What does he want me to say? It’s not like we ever use words. _What do you need me to say?_

 

Dean shakes his head. He downs another shot and pours one for me. 

 

He’s pissed. But that’s a given. I expect yelling. And violence. I almost feel bad for the motel. Almost. 

 

I brace myself. And wait. 

 

_It’s different than last time._ He leans back against the bed and closes his eyes for a moment. 

 

This is really unexpected. 

 

_We’re different than last time,_ I reply. Because we are. It’s the plain truth. Older. Wiser. 

 

No. Just older. 

 

_Hurts more,_ he runs his finger around the rim of the bottle. He’s counting. Pacing himself. It takes about 8 shots for Dean to get good and drunk. He’s running the numbers through his head. 

 

I nod. Because it does hurt more. He’s taking this differently than I thought. The calm before the storm? Or is he accepting this? I just don’t…know. And it scares the shit out of me that I can’t anticipate him.

 

_You really…not going to say anything?_ He pours himself a fourth, but doesn’t drink it yet. 

 

I’m not sure that I could speak even if I wanted too. I know how selfish I’m being. But it’s always been Dean preaching how important it is to fight the good fight. And I can’t do that…not the way I depend on him. 

 

Dean looks at the glass and smiles sadly before draining it. He tips the bottle toward me, but I shake my head. 

 

_You never did like whiskey._

 

That’s it? I never like whiskey? What the fuck is going on?

 

He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his head on them. Sort of contemplative in an exhausted sort of way. Just for a minute though. He straightens out, and stretches his legs in front of him. His feet, just millimeters away from my knees. 

 

Close enough that if I were to lean forward we would connect. He’s very purposeful that way. 

 

_Should I even bother with the why?_

 

The room suddenly feels so small. Much smaller than it actually is. My throat tightens at the thought of speaking, let alone explaining. I’m fighting back so many things right now, that it’s all I can do not to fall apart. 

 

And he doesn’t need that. He doesn’t need me to be weak when I’m the one who has initiated this shit. 

 

He puts the cap back on the bottle.

 

_No more?_ I ask in a distant voice. 

 

He shakes his head, and sets the bottle down next to him. 

 

_Last time, there were goodbye tongue fuckings…_

 

I can’t help but smile a little. Just a little. There will always be a level of connection between us. Our past…is just so extensive. You can’t escape it. I wouldn’t want too.

 

I want to apologize. I need to apologize. _I’m…_

 

_Yeah, Sam, I know._

 

And he does. Because he knows me better than anyone and everyone. And I’m just fucking it all up, so I can cope. 

 

I stare at the carpet, picking at the fibers. 

 

_Well, we had a good run._ He crosses his right foot over his left. 

 

This isn’t Dean.

 

_Why are you doing this?_ It just slips out. I didn’t mean to speak. And I really didn’t mean for it to sound so acidic.

 

He just looks at me. 

 

_The best fuck I’ve ever had,_ he muses to himself. Well it’s nice to know that I’m better than the random bar sluts he used to drill.

 

_Stop._ What we had, it was so much more.

 

_Tightest ass around._ He licks his lips, lost in thought.

 

_Dean!_ As the anger erupts from my voice, I realize what he’s done. Goading me into anger like that…it is typical. 

 

_You angry?_ He wants me to be angry. He wants a fight. Because he can win a fight. We both know it. 

 

I shake my head. 

 

_Dean._ Baby. _You’re still my brother._ My everything. 

 

He nods, knowing that we’ll always have that. But he doesn’t say anything. 

 

I struggle with the tears. Now is not the time. Now is so not the right time for this. He extends his legs that extra millimeter so we touch. 

 

And for a brief second, I don’t remember why I’m doing this. 

 

Everything I’m trying so hard to suppress rises to the top. And I know that it’s not too late. 

 

_Why, Sam?_ He presses his feet into my knees. _Why the fuck now? When I’m so close to…_

 

I am the worst kind of person. Even I hate myself.

 

_Dean._ How do I say it? How do I tell him, that I don’t know how to live without him? That he’s ruined any chance for my survival if I can’t save him? That I can’t be dependent on him? That I can’t fuck him and fight for him at the same time? _I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Baby, I’m so fucking sorry._

 

The tears stream down. I can’t say it. It’ll make things so much worse. 

 

_Don’t. Don’t cry. Fuck. Sam. Stop._

 

Dean closes his eyes tightly, and I know he’s fighting to hold them back. He leans forward, and puts his head in my lap. 

 

I can’t not. I still love him. I can’t not. I run my fingers through his cropped hair. 

 

He breathes heavily into me. Heavy controlled breaths. Dean always was better at not crying. _I fucking love you, Sam, just please…let me fix it._

 

He doesn’t see me shake my head. 

 

He can’t. Dean’s the type to only plead once. Twice if it’s really bad. 

 

I get my fucking tears under control, and inhale deeply. When his breathing evens out, I disentangle my hands from his hair. 

 

_Let’s just focus on saving you. It’ll be okay after that._ My lies are needed. Our lies keep us sane. 

 

He sits up, and it’s only now that I realize how dangerously close we are. Our gaze locks. His eyes tell me that he’s trying read me, to figure it out.

 

My eyes tell him that he’s not allowed to do that anymore. 

 

His hands linger on my knees. He presses deeply. I let him. 

 

I let him make the bruise. Because it’ll probably be the last. 

 

This way he still feels ownership for a while longer. 

 

I’ll never say it. 

 

But I need them too. 

 

It’s hard not to belong to anyone. To only rely on yourself. I don’t know why anyone would ever want this. My heart stutters at the thought. Why would anyone ever choose to be alone like this? 

 

Dean leans in. But what he wants absolutely cannot happen. I push my forehead against his instead. 

 

So here we are. Forehead to forehead. Normalcy for just a few seconds. 

 

_It’s really over, isn’t it?_

 

And it is. 

 

_It’s not goodbye Dean. We’re still brothers. I’m not going anywhere._

 

He laughs ruefully and stands up straight. 

 

_Well I’m hungry. You hungry?_ I watch as he quickly but carefully rebuilds his walls. 

 

He’s back to being nonchalant. And really? It’s no longer my place to call him on it. 

 

I just shake my head, and return to the chair. There’s research to be done. Latin to decipher. Hidden in these volumes is the key to everything I’m dying to get back too. 

 

Dean pauses at the door on his way out. 

 

_I guess I’m happy there are only a couple of months left for me._

 

My head whips toward him and the door. Nostrils flared. 

 

_Yeah? And why the fuck is it that you want to die so badly?_ I’m spitting fumes. He’s just goading me. I won’t be drawn in again. 

 

_Because,_ he answers simply, _don’t imagine I would want to live much longer…without you._

 

I guess the unanswered question of who loves who more, has finally been answered. 

 

He leaves the room and closes the door silently. The only thing I hear is the sound of the Impala starting up, and pulling out of the lot.

 

He didn’t say it to be hurtful. He could have really torn me to pieces. But he didn’t. Because it’s Dean and he loves me, and he would never hurt me. 

 

And who am I? Well I’m the selfish shit who just broke my dying brother’s heart.

 

 

~


End file.
